The half-past nine bell pealed and everyone ran to her own room. Daisy stood in the middle of the floor upbraidingly, if one's attitude can express so much.
"I believe that girl has cast an evil eye on you," she began when Helen kept silence, busying herself with preparations. "There are evil charms as well as delightful ones, and spells that wile away love. And you have promised not to love anyone but me."
"Have I?" Helen's voice was unsteady.
"Yes, you have, and you think promises ought to be kept faithfully. You must keep yours. I said I wouldn't love any other girl, and I haven't. I've seen her look at you with a strange light in her eyes, and they are horrid eyes——"
"Don't let us talk about Miss Craven, but read our verses and say our prayers," and now Helen's voice had decision enough in it.
"You are changing every day, I can see it," complained Daisy.
"Then let us pray that I may get back to the point," with grave peremptoriness.
Daisy was a little awed at this solemn way of taking it up, and acquiesced.
Helen lay and wondered at herself. Had she made Daisy such a sweeping promise? And how easy it had been to say those few words to Miss Craven. What joy it had given her. She did not love Daisy Bell any less—how many people could you love? Must one true affection shut out the others?
She did really love Daisy Bell. She had a rather petite figure and face; the face fair and full of soft curves changing with every emotion, and a rose tint that came and went, that seemed playing hide and seek with two seductive dimples, one in her chin, the other in her cheek. Her hair was a light brown that had a tint of gold, and her eyes were a soft dark brown that could look at you with the utmost pathos or deepen with fun and fire, and her rose-red lips had a dewy, tremulous fashion of shaping themselves to any mood.